"Ne'er fear the water that gathers here, for its pace cannot be slowed. Ask ye only to persevere, for time does all things erode."
Despite knowing that the language carved into the arch's vast span was never, in fact could never, be fashioned by human hands, I find that my eyes roam across the words in full understanding of them. Finally, after long, so long years of travel, my destination is right in front of me, and the fact that it seems to have been waiting is comforting in a way; my rational mind disagrees, of course, but I long since stopped listening to it. Why should I falter in the face of some trivial display of divinity when my road has carved its way through the lives of fiends and beasts already?
Untamed grass stretches up the hill, waving gently as the wind rushes along, almost as if it fears to get stuck in this place. The grass' red coloration might be an explanation, as it glistens like blood under a moon that shines far dimmer than it should. Maybe the burbling creek beside me, black as ink and flowing uphill, contains some foul secret that it refuses to yield to the air and serves as guardian for this supernatural place. Faint snaps as I walk hint at another reason, for the road I now walk is paved by thousands of mementos: broken toys, shattered pictures, abandoned jewelry, cast away tools, and a host of other things lost in the faint moonlight. All relics left behind by those who dared to travel along this road, a physical representation of the cost demanded by the ancient god who calls this otherwise god-forsaken hill home. Legends claim they intend for such a powerful image to deter the weak-willed, cull them before they ascend, though I doubt that. Any fools desperate enough to make it this far would never turn back. Far more likely that this road is meant to force us to finally stop and crystallize our desires, or more importantly, what we're wanting to throw aside.
For me, it's nothing more than a nuisance, a few extra steps added onto an already over-long journey. I re-tie the silver cord wrapped aorund my waist, hoping that the battered remnants of my attire are still capable of making me presentive. Wait, that's not quite right. What was the word again? Ah, gods damn it all, it doesn't matter. It might have been impressive once, but the shredded purple cloth coudn't swathe a child, let alone hide any of my scars. Why did I ever fight so damn hard to keep this cord intact again? It feels so... heavy now, in a way I can't be bothered to describe. Now I see why people would leave such trash on the road at this point.
No, not yet. This shrine has a cost, not only to arrive here but to earn its service. Whatever this cord might have meant in the past, it surely can afford me some measure of peace. If not, well, it's never a bad idea to have an easy way out.
More and more trash piles up beside me the higher I climb, creating faint silhouettes of the past. Sure, if I look at them directly there's nothing odd about it, but out the corner of my eyes I can see ghosts stumbling on the scarlet fields beyond, lost forever in their sorrows. Poor souls, they must have failed the test. If I didn't know better, I would swear I can see myself out there, crawling around in the grass. Slightly unnerving. Maybe I should be more concerned that's all I can feel.
After a time that seems both seconds and years, my feet scrape the top of the hill. In all the legends, the Shrine of Ever-Flowing Water is supposed to appear different to everyone. Don't know why, maybe this god is just as crazy as us. For me, it's the barren grounds of an abandoned temple that threatens to remind me of the past; a massive central prayer hall, fashioned of dark wood and gold, flanked by smaller shrines to either side. Those two shrines are nearly destroyed, walls rent by claw or blade, it's too hard to tell in the darkness. But those banners, yes, those are too easy to make out, even if the silver and purple cloth has been trampled into the very stones. Symbols of a just and kind ruler whose life was unfairly cut short by a traitorous child. Perhaps some twisted sense of irony in my mind finds it fitting that those glorious banners seems to perfectly fit in the overgrown cracks of temple stone.
Directly in front of the main hall's doors is set a small table, distinctly set apart and yet so seamlessly connected to the surrounding decay. Food is spread across it like a buffet, or perhaps more similar to a king's feast - thick steaks covered in sauce, stews simmering in pots, even crabs set out alongside foods I have never seen before, but whose succulent scents waft through the air in tempting waves. Beneath the gorgeous plates upon which the food rests, the table is covered in rotting silk and the wood is gouged with clear signs of violence. At any moment the whole setup looks like it should fall apart, to the ignorant at least. No, no, the real unpredictable element here is the figure sitting on the other side of the table, chin resting in their palms as they stare my way.
Those beautiful golden eyes threaten to steal my breath, even if I knew what to expect; every legend mentions them, a single constant among the chaotic stories. Glowing orbs of golden light that look deep, deep into a person's soul and rip them apart, layer by layer, until their most damning secrets are exposed. I suppose it's no surprise that this capricious god has chosen the form of a kitsune to meet with me, given the innate fear and awe in which my people hold them. A soft but cruel smile twists up their lips, clearly visible since some kind of light seems to emanate from the being. Silver fur frames their pale and beautiful face, extending down their back into a fine set of silken robes, while above their head rests a pair of fox-like ears, twitching at my every step. The goddess shows a surprising amount of skin; their robes, vaguely reminiscent of the mikos of my country, are cut in a way to be subtly exposing, allowing glimpses at delicate hands, pale thighs, or their small breasts. Four silver tails wave behind their stool. Perhaps it's just the long road it took to get here, but I can't help imagine burying my face into those soft and fluffy appendages.
Before I can fully drink in their appearance, or even formulate a greeting, the goddess speaks up first. "Well now, weren't expectin' a young one like ya to make it here. But I guess it's the time ya live in, huh? Too many of the old folks up and die outta shock when a new war comes round, then ya run through the proper adults. What's left at that point 'cept the children?" despite their obvious refined if scandalous appearance, Naiko's voice is surprisingly rough and husky. Familiar, too, though I can't place why.
Cautiously, I sit across from Naiko, doing my best not to touch the table or its bounty. Her question was also obviously rhetorical, so it's probably best to ignore that too for the moment.
They don't seem bothered by my silence - hell, if anything, it seems to spur them on. "Course, that's a problem for the rich and powerful, that it is. Common folks, they don't got a choice in who they send. Damn shame when one family is forced to send out their beloved sons or grandfathers to fill a quota. Told to go off and die for some grand ideal they don't understand, fightin' under a banner of some unknown lord who has never met them, and certainly don't care. Aye, a true loss to the world when those in power are allowed to spend their lives playin' a game that ain't got nothin' to do with them." Throughout her rambling, Naiko's expression never changes, and their mouth isn't moving properly either. Some trick again, meant to make it so I can understand their words without having to debase themself to speak in my language. Maybe she can't even speak human tongues, if everything except those startling eyes is an illusion.
Thankfully, I don't need to focus on those disturbing details. This is all part of the god's test. Don't take what's not offered. Don't respond if not asked directly. Never lie, that one's the most important.
Naiko continues speaking in that almost nostalgic voice, threatening to dredge up memories of a peasant from the past. "But that ain't why ya here, hm, no indeed. It should be, ya know. Just look at those beautiful blades of grass, standing tall like the weapons ya carried, and forced others to do so, slickened in blood of strangers who never done a wrong 'cept live on the wrong side of a river, or tree, or whatever else ya judge things by. Well, I say judge, but ya were never built for that, huh?"
A direct question, at last. Not what I had expected, but more than I could hope for so soon. "No. I was taught, but never learned. So they made me into something else."
"Course they did, course they did. Ain't wrong, but not quite right either. You peoples, you're ne'ver made into anything new, just twisted into a different version of what ya already are. And then complain that ya new skin don't fit right, which ain't wrong either." The god's ears lay back almost to their head, making a faint ringing in the air. Small bells are attached to the tips of those animalistic ears, though I hadn't noticed them at first. "Not my business, anyways, cause ya make my business easy. Always someone who comes crawling for forgiveness, or mercy, or anythin' else my kind lack. Well, that's what they say they want, but we both know what ya come for, what mortals always want. The chance to move on, to truly become something new and different. Somethin' to let ya forget the past as if won't follow ya anyways. Then the question 'comes, what do ya want to forget so badly ya would bury a hill in corpses, stain the ground so much that the very Heavens would quail at ya actions, cast aside everything for a single chance?" Naiko asks, her lips parting just enough to expose a double row of gore-stained fangs.
I cast my gaze down at my lap, unable to bear the golden glow of the goddess. An empty sheath, shredded garments, a scarred body, and this ornate silver cord are all I have to show for my journey, my life. Even my thoughts are scrambled, unable to focus on anything except the catalogue of stories I collected about Naiko, the God of Memories. What did I come here for, again?